


Call Me When You’re Down

by Curator



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode: s07e20 Author Author, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 04:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18328352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curator/pseuds/Curator
Summary: In season 7, episode 20, “Author, Author,” Chakotay asks Janeway whom she will call with her private comm time to the Alpha Quadrant. She says her mother.Did you really believe that?





	Call Me When You’re Down

**Author's Note:**

> Call me when you're down  
> Call me when you need someone  
> Call me when it's rough  
> And you think that there is no one …  
> — “Call Me” by Le Click
> 
> * * *
> 
> Much appreciation to arcadia75 and to Klugtiger for betas.

I don’t like to lie, but there’s precious enough privacy on this ship. So, when Chakotay asked, in front of everyone in the mess hall, whom I would call with my comm time to the Alpha Quadrant, I said, “My mother, I hope.”

Well, it’s my turn today and I’m the last person in my group. Thank goodness.

Ensign Wildman and Naomi leave Astrometrics.

“But why did Daddy seem sad to meet me?” Naomi asks. 

Sam is crying. “Because he loves you, honey, and he misses you.”

My stomach lurches, but all I can do right now is squeeze Sam’s shoulder as I walk past. I enter Astrometrics and tell Seven she’s dismissed. 

“Captain,” she says, “someone must monitor the triaxialating signal to ensure it —” 

I don’t have time to argue. “Go.”

As the doors close behind her, I tap the console to monitor the signal and set up my three-minute call. The screen stutters and then displays the connection.

“Kath.” 

I can’t breathe. I can’t move. His hair is a touch more grey. I see his hands, his lips, his chest. I’m attacked by the muscle memory of intimate moments.

“Kath, are you OK?”

I need to find my voice. 

“Mark, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, Kath.” He tilts his head. “For what?”

For being missing, officially dead, and then alive again. For not replying to your letter for fear you would sense my unjustified hurt. For my almighty Starfleet principles separating us and so many others.

We have 165 seconds.

“For our subspace call when  _ Voyager _ was docked at Deep Space Nine. I should have paid more attention to you and less to the systems status reports. I should have told you I loved you.”

He’s become blurry. It’s not a computer malfunction. 

The console beeps. I realign the signal and wipe my eyes. 

He leans forward. “You were doing your job. I understood.”

“But it was our last few moments.” Of talking. Of being a couple. Of being in the same quadrant.

“Kath, I always loved seeing you in command mode. You were cute giving orders — to your crew or to me.” A mangled sound comes from my throat that should have been a laugh. “Have you been feeling guilty for all these years?” I nod. Mark rubs his temples. “I’ve been feeling guilty that I gave you a hard time about Mollie staying with me. I don’t care about my rugs. I care about your happiness. I shouldn’t have teased you about the doggie bed. I —”

He starts to break up. The console. I hadn’t heard the beeping. I realign the signal. We have 120 seconds. 

“What a pair we are,” I say. “Were.”

“Can we both feel better now?” 

A tightness in my chest eases. I nod again. I need to show him I still care for him. “Tell me about your wife.”

His smile. He used to smile that way for me. “She’s great. I want you to meet her when you get home. She doesn’t like to cook either, so I’m glad you pushed me to get that bigger replicator.” Something deep within me dies. “Did you take my advice?”

“From your letter?”

“Yes.”

He had written:  _ Don’t hold fast to protocol, Kath. If someone makes you happy, go with your feelings. I want that for you.  _

“No.” The word hangs between us. His eyebrows knit. We have 90 seconds. “How’s my sister?” I realign the signal.

“I play tennis with Phoebe every few weeks. She’s been seeing someone. You may have a brother-in-law before too long. He’s nice. Very knowledgeable about which wine goes with which entree. That kind of guy.”

As sure as a Romulan knows ale, I know Mark and his wife went on a double date with my sister and someone who sounds wrong for her. I develop a different kind of tightness in my chest. I attend to the beeping console. 

“What about my mom?”

“She had a tough time for a while, Kath. But, when she found out you’re alive, everything brightened. She’s OK.”

“Please tell her I’ll call her next.” Please allow her to see she always will be my mother, but I needed to bolster this more tenuous connection first. Please let her understand how I’ve ached for this man who was part of my life for so many years, who was so much to me, and who was supposed to be even more.

“I will.” He leans forward. “Kath, how are you coping with being out there?”

I can’t answer that in the 60 seconds remaining. I realign the signal and deflect the question, “How do you think?”

His grin doesn’t match his eyes. “Too much coffee and not enough sleep.” My laugh comes out properly this time. “Kath, I know you’re going to demand more of yourself than anyone else would, but can I give you an order?”

I smile. A real one. “You can try.”

Mark is as serious as I’ve ever seen him. “If you get a chance to get home, don’t listen to that voice in your head about the Prime Directive or Temporal Prime Directive or any of those hundreds of regulations. Come back to us, OK?”

_Us_. Not _me_. I knew Mark would be my friend now, not my fiancé, but I’m drowning in word choices and double dates and replicator sizes. I’m being pulled under by decisions that feel so long ago and those I can’t yet fathom. My answer would have been different just a few months ago. “I’ll think about it.”

__

“I’ll take what I can get.” He sits back. “Kath, I know you may have wanted to see Mollie, but I didn’t want to confuse her. She —”

__

The console beeps. Five seconds. “Rub her ears for me.” 

__

“I’ve done it every day since you’ve been gone.”

__

The signal terminates. I’m nauseous. My hands grip the console. I force air slowly into and out of my lungs. 

__

I can go to my quarters and cry for the rest of the day or I can go to the bridge and get some work done. I give the empty screen a hard look, set my jaw, and walk to the turbolift. “Deck one.”

__

Chakotay turns when I sit in my chair. 

__

“How’s your mother?” he asks. 

__

I paste on the  _ you’re so wonderfully thoughtful  _ smile. “She’s OK, thank you.” 

__

That wasn’t a lie, and I’m entitled to my goddamn privacy. 

__


End file.
